My grandmother, Josephine MacKinnon, passed away on May 12, 2014.
She was 89 years old.
Grammy Jo to me, Nana to the world, she was sweet and gentle and her family extended well beyond blood. It was broad and varied and full of diverse characters who all loved Josie.
She was very dear. Nana lived one of those contemplative and quiet country lives (apart from a brief stint in the big city of Dover, NH).
She loved breakfast - something I inherited from her. She loved still mornings with coffee and a window looking over unbroken snow. She had a green thumb. Or two. Or maybe three. She could make anything grow. Josie loved her family, her friends and her pets. Her beloved Bichon Frisée, Monique, was buried with a marker in my grandmother's meadow.
She cared for people. It was an irrepressible trait. When it wasn't her seven kids, 10 grand kids or one great-granddaughter, it was the friends and acquaintances they brought into her life. Or her work as a home care nurse. Or her time helping the troops during WWII (her husband, my grandfather Dan, fought in Europe)
Grammy Jo, while being sweet, was also not afraid to call people out when they were being shitty. "Shit" being the only curse word I really remember her using. She wasn't afraid to call someone a "shit" if, say, they broke into Nana's house to play with one of her visiting grandchildren (Nana still loved you, though, Caity).
So. Be sweet, like Josie. But don't stand for bullshit, like Josie.
Like Josie, watch old movies in the afternoon. Fall asleep during them. Snore. Loudly. Who cares? The people who are with you at three in the afternoon all love you.
Be sure to have people who love you, like Josie. Have them over for lunch (chicken salad with grapes). Then fall asleep in the living room.
Nana could sleep anywhere, any time. Nanalepsy, I called it. She had a particular knack for passing out in cars. Before even leaving the driveway, Nana would be out cold. And her sudden naps weren't an old age thing. My aunts say she'd fall asleep just as easily while riding with them to the bus stop as kids.
"Enjoy bacon while you can."
Grammy Jo mostly taught by example. She lived a good, simple life but occasionally took a moment to offer some opinion or tip or piece of wisdom. In this case, enjoy bacon.
She was on a restricted diet for her last 8 years or so (minus the time right at end where she could eat anything she wanted). And through the lens of her low-sodium, largely meat-free diet, she could see that bacon truly is a wonder.
At a family brunch, she said that to me with a grin. Enjoy bacon while you can.
Be thankful you can tie your shoes.
What a gift it is to be able to tie your own shoes. With that skill, anything's possible. The whole world's a well-kept street if you have shoes on your feet.
Grammy Jo taught me to tie my shoes. I learned late, as I recall. And the tutelage came while the whole family was camping on Lake Aziscohos in Western Maine. She taught me that one with the rabbit. Around the tree and down the hole.
When you're five or six, tying your shoes is as big a deal as getting your driver's license. Bigger. You can't even get a driver's license if you're not wearing shoes.
It gives you freedom! You're free to explore, ready to meet people. To walk the dog. To get a coffee. To shop. To help. To teach someone else how to tie their shoes.
That's what my grandmother gave me.
